Rediscovering rural roots

"You are going to live out there alone!"

"How on earth will you manage? What if you need medical attention, you don't even have a conveyance."

"You don't have anyone there!"

All this from people who would have raised no objections to my putting down my roots in a foreign land. That would have been welcome, but this was foolhardy.

But despite all objections the shift was made. 

The location is just a three-hour ride away from Colombo. The area is green and lush with vegetation. Having spent holidays there, over the years, I already knew some of the residents, and so was no stranger to the area. I had already had some interaction with the village, and it was their assistance that was sought, to get my few personal possessions and my two canine bodyguards to the residence, which was to be "home" for me, at least for the next few years. 

The access to the house was through a causeway that lay between two paddy fields. The fields at present were covered in weeds and steeped in iron toxicity (a rust coloured oily substance found on the surface of the water, lodged in the fields). At the end of the fields, was a narrow gravel drive that led to the bungalow. The foliage and trees that lined it as it wound its way uphill was shady and restful. 

A few of the village folk had gathered to "give a hand" in order that I may "settle in" quickly. This was the last 48 hours before a New Year dawned and it would not do to be in disarray. My nearest neighbour had included a portion for me in their intake of food for the day, so that I would not have to worry on that score. Everyone was helpful and by the time my daughter and the Uncle and Aunt, who owned the house arrived, I had settled down and we were ready to see the New Year in.

"Watch Night" service was the first activity on my schedule as a new resident. So with my Aunt and Uncle (who is regarded as the local village squire, since my uncle's family had owned a considerable amount of property in the village - and the village had benefited from their patronage), we made our way to church.

The service commenced, and the young pastor looked "glum". Apparently, he had organized the traditional "milk rice" to be served immediately after the service, but most of his congregation seemed to have deserted him! The reason, we were later told, was that they had also attended the service in town which had arranged dinner and games before the service. But, of course they would not disappoint their pastor. They came in time to hear his sermon. When the service ended, the pastor was beaming - his flock had not strayed!

The New Year dawned quietly. 

I stood on a little knoll and my eyes spanned the still fields and the silent starlit sky. Here there were no Roman Candles and starbursts to illuminate the sky. No vehicles, madly tooting their horns as they sped through the streets, to their next destination. The people filed quietly out of the Church and wished each other a Happy New Year. A few shook hands, while others nodded in recognition and wished each other smilingly. Quite unlike in the city, where as soon as service is over, everyone hugs and kisses each other, even the pastor. But here people would have frowned on such familiarity. Even families exhibit a certain amount of restraint with each other. 

Thank goodness my aunt and uncle and daughter were there to give me that much needed hug and kiss, without which I would have felt an alien without roots.

A new phase in my life had begun.